


Breakfast And Sides

by notyourfuckboy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred Swears A Lot, First Time (Kinda), Francois Makes a Mean Omelette, Fruk (implied), Ivan Sucks Dick, M/M, RusAme, Threesome, Top France (Hetalia), blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourfuckboy/pseuds/notyourfuckboy
Summary: Alfred splayed his hands, waiting to hear more. “Are you down? Is this something like, you’d want?” Francois outright laughed at that, and Alfred faltered, cheeks flushing.“Would I want to fuck you both at the same time? It’s like you don’t even know who you’re talking to. I’m insulted, mon ami.”





	Breakfast And Sides

Francois prided himself on generally having an idea of what everyone else was doing in bed. He was an avid fan of gossip, a connoisseur of deviant acts, a proprietor of scandals. And mostly, he was good at guessing.

It wasn’t often that he was unaware of others’ romantic ventures, and a lack of knowledge generally only indicated a lack of interest. He tended to keep an eye on the love lives of those closest to him, cataloguing social cues at the world meetings, probing the drunken confessions of his friends afterward for further details. He was curious to a fault. Especially if those secrets involved him. 

He couldn’t help it. He liked to know who was fucking who. 

So he was completely caught off guard when Ivan answered Alfred’s door. Ivan, who Francois hadn’t seen since the last world meeting, where he’d barely said a word and deflected every conspiratory comment Alfred had thrown his way. Ivan, who was very obviously wearing a New England Patriots sweatshirt that clearly did not belong to him. Francois’ mind was immediately seven steps ahead of his tongue, but he covered his shock with a pleasant laugh and a warm smile.

“Bonjour, Ivan. I was not expecting you to be here.”

“Oh, it is no problem,” Ivan replied warmly, stepping back to invite Francois in. “Alfred said you would be coming. He is in the shower still, and asked me to let you in. I hope that is alright.”   
  
“Of course, of course. It’s nice to see you.” And it was. Ivan looked, for lack of a better word, normal. Francois couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him outside of a meeting, or dressed casually for that matter. He seemed at ease, and Francois really couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that either.    
  
He hovered in the doorway for a moment, watching as Ivan busied himself with picking up various items off the floor; a discarded jacket, a shirt, another shirt, some socks. They really hadn’t been prepared for company, had they.    
  
“Please,” said Ivan, straightening up, arms full of last night’s attire. “Go ahead and set your things in the kitchen. I am very looking forward to breakfast.” Francois remembered the reason for his visit, then, and nodded, heading past him to Alfred’s unnecessarily large and entirely underused kitchen. He set his grocery bag on the counter, then busied his hands with washing and prepping the vegetables he’d brought for breakfast. 

He’d been on the phone with Alfred earlier in the week, chatting amicably about the state of the world and their lives. During that conversation, Alfred had gone on and on about all his issues with Arthur, and about his recent tension with Matthew, and of course about his touchy relationship with Yao. He’d also provided at length his very opinionated opinions about the European Union as a whole, but not before checking in with Francois about the latest gossip over trade. It was as they said their goodbyes that Alfred had mentioned his desire to eat more healthily, prompting Francois to offer his culinary skills for a weekend brunch. They’d agreed on a date and that had been it. How convenient that Alfred had forgotten to mention that he was currently fucking the one person in the world he hadn’t wanted to talk about. Francois should’ve known.

“Are you in need of help?” came Ivan’s soft voice unexpectedly, startling Francois into dropping his onions in the sink.

“Ah, non, no, I am just preparing the vegetables. I’m only making omelettes, I can handle it.” He turned to look at Ivan, who was sitting politely at the kitchen island. Ivan nodded in understanding, watching Francois’ hands work.    
  
“If you’re sure,” he replied. Francois smiled with a quick nod and went back to washing. 

Moments passed, and Francois moved to prep the stove, pulling a large pan from the overhead rack. He felt Ivan’s eyes on him, watching without comment. Not unexpected, but not exactly great for Francois’ recently discovered performance anxiety. He wondered if he should ask Ivan how he was, but couldn’t bring himself to. And he certainly couldn’t ask about how long  _ this _ had been going on. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Mind racing, Francois busied himself by cracking eggs into a bowl, wishing Ivan could be the bigger man for once and break the silence. 

Fortunately, the master of breaking awkward tension arrived in that moment, freshly showered and dressed in what Francois hoped was a clean pair of sweats.    
  
“Smells like someone’s cooking something fucking great in here,” said Alfred breezily, heading for his liquor cabinet. “How’re you doin, Francois?”    
  
“As well as always, mon ami. I hope you’re hungry.” The omelettes had just begun to cook, vegetables and diced meat sizzling in the oil. Alfred laughed, setting three small crystal glasses on the island.    
  
“Dumb fucking question. ‘Course I’m hungry. And y’know what’s good with eggs? Mimosas.” Francois heard Ivan laugh in response. Sure, it was still the early morning, but Francois firmly believed that it was never too early for alcohol. Especially now that he had to deal with being a third wheel.

“Couldn’t agree more,” he said airly, flipping the thin egg over in the pan with the grace and practice of a Cordon Bleu alum. “Make mine a double,  s'il vous plaît.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Alfred, elbowing into his own fridge to find orange juice. “Man, you should’ve been here last night. We practically prohibitioned my fucking liquor cabinet between the two of us. I’m pretty sure the only thing left in there is wine.” 

“Perfect” said Francois as Ivan responded “Pity.” They caught each others’ eyes briefly before Ivan smiled again and Francois turned back to his cooking. Whatever that was, it was nothing. 

“So, Mimosas,” Alfred said, caught in his own narrative, oblivious to Francois’ stiff arm plating the omelettes and the slight twitch of Ivan’s jaw. “Figured we could eat in the den? It’s cold as hell in here.” 

“Whatever you like,” Francois murmured, balancing three plates on his arms. “I would suggest wherever we go, we eat fast before the food gets cold too.”   
  
“I agree,” supplied Ivan, standing. He reached for two of the drinks and followed Alfred, who’d nearly abandoned them in his haste to get to his basement. “After you,” he said, turning to Francois with a small tilt of his head. Francois blinked, then stepped in front of him with a less than enthusiastic “Merci.” 

They made their way to Alfred’s basement, or “den” as he called it. It was less like the cozy hangout space it promised by name and more like a walk-in curio cabinet, the ceiling plastered with old war and sports memorabilia, the walls lined with tall shelves filled with fossils and worn shoes and defunct electric gadgets. Francois wandered between them carefully, following Alfred to a corner that housed a grand table and several loved leather chairs. He set the plates down on the faded mahogany, noting the carved initials to one side,  _ AFJ. _ He wondered how old the thing was. 

Ivan moved from behind him and set the drinks next to the plates, then seated himself to Francois’ right. Alfred had already started eating as Francois sat, sinking into the worn leather. He watched fondly as Ivan dug in as well. It was in his habit not to eat until he heard the reviews.

“Fuck. Dude. This is amazing,” Alfred said finally, washing down his most recent gulp with a swig of alcohol. “Like I know you know that, but seriously. Like something Gordon Ramsay would make.” 

Francois tried very hard not to be offended at his cooking being compared to that of an overpuffed British television personality, and instead tipped his head in gratitude before eating his own meal. 

“I had forgotten how delicious French cuisine was,” Ivan remarked, having finished the food completely in mere seconds. “Truly a treat.  Spasibo _. _ ”

“It is no trouble,” Francois replied, sipping his mimosa. “Happy always to share my passions with the world.”

“Da, as you should. You have many gifts.” 

Francois wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t miss the glance Ivan shared with Alfred after. He chose to keep his eyes on the remnants of his omelette. 

“I mean I got all my good cooking skills from him, didn't I?” Alfred boasted, trademark irresistible grin adorning his features. Ivan smiled pleasantly back in response, finishing the last of his mimosa. “So it’s practically a crime, Francois, that you’re not here more than you are. Things can’t always be that busy in Europe.”

“I am always happy to see you,  Alfred. It is you who is more often than not the busy one.” Alfred shrugged, admitting the truth of it. Francois watched his fingers drum on the table. 

“Fair but. Alright, yeah. Still though, we should hang out more. I was thinking about it lately, y’know.”    


“Were you?” Francois asked nonchalantly, feeling Ivan shift slightly in the seat next to him. 

“Yeah. Thinking in general about...how I really should spend time with other people more. And that includes you, y’know. I mean I know how important other people are to you and I guess I wanted to remind you that you’re important to me too.”

If anything, Francois hadn’t expected something so sweet. He looked up, finishing his last bite with genuine surprise across his face. Alfred must have noticed, and his grin softened. He reached forward, hand coming under Francois’ chin to wipe something away, and that too, had been unexpected. Francois wondered if this was a trap, if he’d been called here on some elaborate scheme where in the end he would be made fun of and ridiculed for being some sort of naive idiot about something. 

“Ah, well. Thank you, Alfred. You’re. Sweet.” Francois swallowed, uncharacteristically at a loss for words as he saw Alfred’s gaze very obviously slide to his lips, then back to his eyes. But the moment passed, and Alfred pulled away, pulling his hand back with an easy grin. Francois felt warm.

“Just being honest,” Alfred remarked. He glanced at Ivan, who returned his gaze with something imperceptibly darker. Francois looked between them, feeling for all the world like the butt end of a joke. On another day, he would’ve kept that to himself. But the decency of silence evaded him, and he opened his mouth.

“Could you care to explain to me what is going on?” he asked, tone surprisingly biting. He looked between them, searching for an answer. Ivan’s expression remained the same, unaffected and pleasant, as Alfred’s grin slid into a firm smile, eyebrows creasing in an upwards V of sympathetic concern. 

“What’s going on? What’s going on is that I didn’t invite you here just for your cooking.” Alfred sat back in his chair, combing a hand through his bangs. “I was going to try and be sweet about it, but. Hey, if you want me to just forgo the formalities, I will.” His grin widened upon seeing Francois’ jaw literally fall open at that. “Yeah. Guess we were talking and–” he cut himself off with a glance to Ivan, and Francois followed the motion, meeting the Russian’s gaze. 

“I haven’t had more than one person at a time before,” Ivan explained calmly, something like embarrassment crossing his features for a moment before they smoothed into an apologetic smile. “Alfred suggested to me that you might be someone we could go to for...an experience.” 

Francois, albeit taken aback, felt himself relax at that. For once, his reputation was doing him the utmost of favors. He smiled, body curling instinctively towards the two of them as he let himself think for a moment. 

Really, he was honored to be chosen for such a monumental step in their relationship. A small part of his brain rejoiced at the prospect of relaying this all to Arthur later, bragging over tea about Alfred’s preference for inviting a third into his bed. Holding someone else’s first time over the Brit’s head was something far too rarely done. And Francois wasn’t about to let his inhibitions stop him from knocking Arthur down a peg. Or several.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Francois and Ivan hadn’t had their own thing, however brief, however intoxicated they had been. He could recall the smell of petrol and leather, the taste of vodka and schnapps, the sounds of the musicians and street vendors in Red Square. They’d done it in a hotel. Ivan had been different then. Or maybe Francois had.

And of course, Alfred and he were no strangers, not with how things had been since the Great War. Traded handjobs and rough sex over desks were more common than Francois wanted to admit. He rarely left New York without bruises, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sober in New Orleans. Alfred had learned a thing or two as well, mostly about Paris nightlife and the fact that he really,  _ really _ loved not completely understanding the absolutely filthy things Francois whispered in his ear. And they had shared others between them. In fact, the last time Francois had seen Alfred outside of a meeting, he’d had his cock in Arthur’s mouth. The memory steered him back to reality as he wondered if he could watch Ivan do the same. 

“I see,” he murmured, abandoning his previous suspicions in favor of the warm trickle of delight that traveled down his chest at the sight of Ivan’s eyes noticeably widening. “You should have said something sooner, mon cher. Had I known, I would have been a little more prepared.” Alfred chuckled, looking sheepish.

“What’s the fun in that?” he asked coyly, rising from his chair. “Besides. I wanted to see the shock on your face. That and, y’know. Other things.” He reached for their plates, gathering them into a swift stack. “I’m gonna take these upstairs. You two should uh, chat. Fuckin’ relax.” He winked at Francois before brushing by them, back through the den to the upper landing.

Francois would have loved to relax, but found himself unable to, mind racing with what exactly should be done next. Fortunately, Ivan seemed almost as nervous as he was, hands folded tightly in his lap and expression impressively blank. For the first time since Francois’ arrival, Ivan didn’t meet his gaze, eyes downcast and fixated on the curvature of the table. Something about that gave Francois a small surge of pride. 

He wondered what had prompted this between them. Was there something they wanted specifically that required a third person? Or was it up to him to decide how the whole event was going to go? He didn’t necessarily need it clarified, but any hint of anything from Ivan would be appreciated. In preparation to break the silence, Francois cleared his throat, the noise causing Ivan to look up sharply. He really was tightly wound, wasn’t he. Francois regarded the imbalance of exterior calm as another French victory. 

“Is there anything I should know?” he asked politely, leaning back into his chair. Ivan blinked, head turning to glance and see if Alfred had re-joined them. Such was not the case. Francois let his own smile grow into a smirk.

“Not that I know,” Ivan said, pulling an expression of concentration. “All we have discussed is the interest in experimenting with another person. I mentioned it off-handedly, that I had never had multiple partners. But now he has become obsessed with ‘righting that sexual injustice.’” His fingers quoted Alfred mid-air before folding back into his lap. “Really I am just. Here to see him happy.”    
  
“How sweet,” Francois mused before he could stop himself, finding the hesitancy endearing. “I suppose then that I am here to see you both happy, am I not?” Ivan held his gaze, warming up slowly. Francois let his smirk curl into something more desirous. “And of course, I want to see you both  _ very _ happy. You make an attractive couple.” Ivan looked away at that. Francois leaned forward. 

“So if there is something you want, or that I should know, I want to hear it. No matter what it is. Nothing is out of the question.” Ivan remained still. Francois pressed further. “You know that I can make it feel good. And he knows too. Let me show you.” He reached out a hand in offering, palm up. “So tell me. For Alfred’s sake?”

Francois cocked his head, waiting for a response. Soon enough, Ivan blinked back at him, expression composed. 

“You should. Show me how to be better at…” He trailed off, hands coming up again to demonstrate what words could not. They mimed moving back and forth, forming around an invisible cock. Francois raised an eyebrow, amused at the Russian’s bashfulness.

“A handjob?” he asked blankly. Ivan laughed slightly, giving up and letting his hands fall back to his lap. 

“Nyet. With my mouth.” Francois’ other eyebrow joined the first, both raised up into his hairline.

“It’s not,” Ivan said quickly, fingers twitching over his knees. “It’s not as if I cannot do it. But I know I can do better. And having not been instructed before, perhaps, I could be impressive. I am told you are very good. I know from experience that you are very good.”

“Instructed,” Francois repeated, endeared. He pulled his own hands back, crossing them over his chest comfortably. “I would love to see that. And as I said,” he began as Alfred re-emerged from the upper landing. “I am happy to help.” 

“Man, you guys haven’t moved at all. Tell me at least you talked.” Alfred rejoined them, taking a seat across from Francois. “You talked, right?”

“Oui. We talked,” Francois said politely, eyes measuring him. Next to him, Ivan surreptitiously adjusted his posture.

“Okay, well. Great.” Alfred splayed his hands, waiting to hear more. “Are you down? Is this something like, you’d want?” Francois outright laughed at that, and Alfred faltered, cheeks flushing.

“Would I want to fuck you both at the same time? It’s like you don’t even know who you’re talking to. I’m insulted, mon ami.” Francois pulled a face, eyes thin in amusement at Alfred’s obvious embarrassment at his  blasé use of lang uage. “It’s true, I was unaware this was even a situation I could possibly take part in. But how could I refuse such an alluring invitation? Two of the most powerful men I know, looking to me for an additional thrill? C'est habilitant.”

“Yeah, well. Ok. Don’t get a big head,” Alfred muttered, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe we should go upstairs?”

“But you said it is warmer down here, no?” Francois replied, rising from his chair. “Best not to further drag this out, Alfred. Let me help you both get started.” He smiled to himself, feeling the full weight of Alfred’s eyes on him as he leaned forward to press a hand against Ivan’s lap. 

Ivan was hard, as Francois knew he would be. He made a startled noise, caught completely off guard at the sudden attention. Across from them, Alfred had half risen out of his chair, mouth open in a similar display of surprise. Francois hummed, moving his palm against the length of Ivan’s cock beneath his jeans. Ivan’s head tipped forward, another noncommittal sound tumbling from his lips. Francois watched his fingers dig into the leather of the armchair as he continued to stroke him.

“Come here,” he said softly after a moment, glancing over at Alfred. Alfred’s hand was on the waistband of his sweats, hovering without direction over his own cock. He stepped forward, rounding the table to stand on Ivan’s other side. He looked down at Francois, eyes wide and dark behind shadowed rims. 

“I want to watch him suck you off,” Francois continued, the statement eliciting a groan from both of the other men. Alfred didn’t need to be told twice, his cock in his hand almost instantly. He gave himself two slow strokes, watching Francois watch him do so, before pressing forward. The head of his cock pushed for entrance at Ivan’s lips, and Ivan opened his mouth like Francois knew he’d done merely hours ago. 

“Mm. Bien,” Francois murmured, sinking onto the leather arm of Ivan’s chair, hand still between his legs. “Open wider. Let him rest against your tongue.” Ivan complied, jaw relaxing, and Alfred’s response was a grateful moan. 

Francois leaned forward, mouth pressing against the angle of Ivan’s jaw. He felt Ivan twitch at that, his body shivering down to his cock, which he pressed back into Francois’ hand. Francois rewarded him with a firm stroke, watching as Alfred’s hand came up to grip at the back of Ivan’s hair. 

“Fuck,” Alfred gasped, and Francois felt his own cock press hard against his thigh. He ached, feeling suddenly empty. Later, he’d have two cocks to choose from, and the thought of taking them both was almost too much to handle. But for now, he needed to get them comfortable, needed to get them under his control. So far, that was proving to be easy.

“Now, Ivan,” Francois breathed against his ear, loud enough for Alfred to hear. “I want you to only use your tongue. Do not suck him off yet. Trace a circle around his head. Then a square. And then a triangle.” He watched as Ivan complied, accompanied by a low “Oh shit” in the back of Alfred’s throat. Ivan continued to work his tongue around Alfred’s head, pulling back to trace shapes and letters along the underside of it as well, and Francois hummed in approval at the sight. Under his hand, Ivan was rock hard. 

“And now you can take him. Take him to the base once. Keep your jaw relaxed and allow all of his cock down your throat.” 

Eagerly, Alfred spearheaded the process, bucking forward into Ivan’s mouth in a rush of need. Francois made a warning sound, but Ivan took it, cheeks hollowing before Alfred pulled back, allowing him slack. 

“Now work him up from base to tip. You have to feel every slide of his skin between your lips and tongue. Worship that cock as you work your way towards the crown. Do not stop moving your mouth.” 

“Fucking...Christ, Fran...ah,” Alfred moaned distractedly, eyes closed against the feeling of Ivan trying his best to adhere to Francois’ instructions. “You’re fucking filthy.”

Francois snorted. “Just the way you like, ami. Maintenant, tais-toi. Permettez-lui d'être bon pour vous.” Alfred swore and tugged Ivan’s hair, steeling himself from bucking forward again. 

Ivan continued to suck, mouth moving up and over Alfred’s cock desperately, hungrily. Francois paused, watching his jaw work. He thought about later, about being underneath the both of them, how Ivan’s mouth would feel on his cock, how Alfred’s warm hands would push his legs apart and spread him wide. The image drew a groan from his throat, and Ivan bucked against him again. He was close.

“Mm...oui...Ivan, tu es tellement bon pour moi,” Francois moaned into his neck, tasting his skin with his tongue. “That’s right. So good for me. And for Alfred. Go ahead and take him again, and work your way up faster.” Ivan complied, reaching a hand for Alfred’s pants, pulling him closer. Alfred was breathing hard, face flushed and glasses halfway down his nose. By the looks of it, he was close too. Francois could hardly wait.

“Why don’t you ask him to come for you?” he breathed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Why don’t you ask Alfred to spill his cum down your throat the way you want, oui? After all, you’ve been working so hard to get him off. I’m sure he’d like to hear what you want.” Ivan shivered against him before pulling off Alfred’s cock slightly, panting. 

“Alfred...Pozhaluysta.” He moved his tongue, flicking it against Alfred’s head as Alfred gripped the base of his cock. “Come for me. Please. Dlya menya.”

“Fucking...fuck! Fuck,” Alfred replied eloquently, rubbing himself against Ivan’s complacent mouth. Francois could feel Ivan’s cock straining against his jeans and quickly undid the zipper, taking him in hand. Ivan swore in tandem, panting heavily against Alfred’s cock as Francois stroked him off quickly. 

“Blyad'. I...Fran...Al–” was all Ivan managed before he came all over Francois’ hand and Alfred’s sweatshirt. 

“Shitfucking  _ shit _ , I’m gonna,  _ fuck _ , I’m fucking gonna–” Alfred provided more helpfully before unloading himself against Ivan’s mouth, partially within it, mostly against it. Francois watched Alfred’s cum coat Ivan’s lips and the bridge of his nose. Ivan looked, for lack of a better word, perfect.

“Holy...shit,” Alfred breathed, coming down with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward to wipe Ivan’s face with the sleeve of his sweater. “Fuck. I’m sorry, dude.” Ivan said nothing, still also catching his breath. He turned to look at Francois, eyes wide and face flushed. 

“That was incredible,” he stated breathlessly. Francois smiled knowingly, pulling his hand away from his softening cock.

“As I knew it fucking would be,” said Alfred with a short laugh. “But we aren’t done yet. Francois is our guest, after all. And I’m not fucking a guest down here.” He tucked himself back underneath his sweats, grinning down at them. Francois tilted his chin up coyly, unwilling to show them just how eagerly he was awaiting that upcoming promise.

“Well then, mon ami, we’d better move upstairs. Apparently I am about to get fucked.”

Alfred and Ivan smiled nearly in sync, both measuring him with weighted gazes.

“Apparently? What, like you’re not hiding a fucking neglected boner between your legs right now?” Alfred crossed his arms, jerking his head towards the upper landing. “C’mon Francois, let us go take care of you. Properly. In bed.” 

Francois sucked in a breath, unwilling to postpone the quelling of his predicament any longer. “Alright, mon ami. But you know, I expect proper attention. I did make you breakfast and talk the both of you off. At the very least, you must make me cum twice.”

Ivan tilted his head at that, eyes wide with curiosity. “Only twice? That seems substandard.”

Alfred grinned. “Yeah. I was thinking maybe six, seven times.” 

Francois looked between them, a sudden apprehension tightening across his chest. The pair responded with twin expressions, predatory eyes and hungry grins. Francois wondered how far this would go, then decided he didn’t particularly care.

“Well,” he said on the edge of an exhale. “Montre moi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
